


Chasing Haqqani

by Murmures1234



Category: Homeland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-13 13:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murmures1234/pseuds/Murmures1234
Summary: Peter Quinn met the very young Fara Sherazi in horrific circumstances, Iraq, 2003.Find out how this effected the long, sometimes terrifying hunt for the criminal terrorist, Haqqani.





	1. Chapter 1

Prompt: Fara and Peter Quinn go way back. 

October 2003, Operation Iraqi Freedom, Kirkuk. 

No matter how many times he deployed to the desert: Iraq, Afghanistan… wherever, he would never get used to the heat. Even in the early morning, the sun beat down on them. The hustle of the markets was already underway, happening below him as he looked out on the world from his tower on the FOB. Watching, waiting, thinking about the mission.   
They’d had some intelligence that there were important members of the Bathist regime here. Maybe even the big man himself, codename “short-stop”, imaginatively put together in reference to the execution he would surely face when found. 

Suddenly, his eyes fixed on a small figure in the crowd, coming towards the FOB. She was tiny, maybe 7 or 8, and unusually for that age, wearing the chador. That was the first thing that struck him as odd. Usually it would be only teenagers or adults wearing it, not children. Not unless she had something to hide. He pulled out his telescope. With it, he could make out silent tears rolling down her face, and her hand shaking. Shit. 

She was coming straight at the base.   
She kept walking.   
Shit. 

“Place your hands where I can see them,” a voice rang out. 

She didn’t move, she was shaking.   
The adahn rang out. The sun beat down. 

Weapons were pointed at this little girl now, he had to stop this. 

He bolted of his seat and ran down, all he could hear was the noise of the market. 

“Place your hands where I can see them,” 

He pushed past Rob, from the group, knocking his bowl of cocopops from his hand. 

“What the fuck man?” Rob said, grabbing his arm in an iron grip.   
“Suicide bomber, little girl, front gate, now,” 

Rob dropped the bowl, picked up his weapon and followed Peter. 

“Place your hands where I can see them or so help me I will shoot,” The marine was screaming at the girl who had stopped dead just by the gates. 

She moved her hands. The chador fell away just as Peter and Rob got there. The device was instantly visible.   
The poor girl was buried in explosives, trigger gaffa-taped to her hand. 

“Shit,” thought Peter. 

There was suddenly screaming, and noise. Shouts for 200m cordon. 400m. 

The girl was shaking, trembling. Whispering, muttering. Terrified.   
Then he realised, with a start. She was whispering in Farsi. Weird. She shouldn't be speaking in Farsi, not here, not in Iraq. 

Then he listened. He really listened. It was one of the perks of being trained as he had been, he was really good at zoning out and listening to a single conversation, even far away.   
“He made me come here because Papa is here, he said Papa needed to pay. Please don’t let Papa die, please. I don’t want Papa to die” 

He saw a patch of liquid pool under her. The poor girl had urinated herself, she was shaking. She was swaying, her face pale with fear. It was so nosy, the screams of the crowd being jostled away by the Marines, the screams of Marines at her not to move. 

None of it she could understand. 

She was speaking Farsi. 

But why. Why was she here? What the hell is an Iranian girl doing here. 

Then he clicked. Shit. 

Their translator, Sherazi was Iranian. His wife had been Kurdish, killed by the regime. Sherazi had been helping beforehand as part of the joint CIA-Peshmerga operation, in memory of his wife, and now he was assisting up here. He had said his daughter was safe, in boarding school. His clever daughter Fara; the girl that always did what she was told, and loved Maths and was getting the best grades in her class. But he’d bet that wasn’t true, he’d bet his daughter was the little girl here. In an instant he made a decision.   
He stepped forward. 

“What the fuck are you playing at,” the Marine in charge of the FOB screamed at him. 

He stepped forward again. Hand reaching for his pocket knife. If he was going to do this, it better be good, and it better be fast, and it better be old school. No way would any bomb disposal expert get here in time. He’d made enough bombs in his short special service career. He’d probably be able to dismantle it. Probably. Hopefully. Maybe.   
In Farsi he started speaking to her. 

“Don’t worry, your Papa won’t be here. He’s probably praying, we’ll make sure you can see him real soon sweetheart ok. We’re going to get you out of here. I’m going to get you out of here ok.” 

The Marine was still screaming at them. 

Peter turned around. 

“Shut the fuck will you.” 

He heard Rob shout up,   
“Phone signals down Quinn, cordon in place. Get it off her if you can, but please mate. I don’t wanna have to watch you get red misted.” 

Peter crouched down to look at her. He carried on speaking to her in Farsi.   
“You’re Fara, aren’t you. Fara Sherazi?” 

She looked at him, wide eyed. 

“How do you know my name?” 

“Your Papa is really proud of you, and he loves you, and he talks about you all the time. He said you could always do what you’re asked. That you’re a good girl who always listens to him. He’s a good friend of mine, and he’d want you to listen to me now. It’s really important that you stay really still. Can you do that for me sweetheart, can you stay still?” 

She nods. 

“Good girl. Now I’m going to walk around you to have a look at this jacket of yours and work out how we can get it off you ok. Don’t move an inch, ok” 

Sniffles. No noise. 

He walked around her slowly, eyes intent, calculating risks, odds. It was risky with his knife, he’d rather have scissors, shears, anything with a bit more control. But he’d have to make do. He was here to kill terrorists. He was here to kill or capture a man who had committed Genocide. What he wasn’t here to do, was to let a little girl die, much less the kid-daughter of a man who had become a close friend out here. 

It was complicated, this vest. A thumb trigger, a second, back up device. Wires everywhere, over the shoulders and around the waist so he couldn’t just cut it off her. Well he could, but that was a last resort. 

It didn’t help she was still shaking. 

“Am I going to die?” A small voice asked.   
“Not if I can help it.” He responded. 

She was silent for a second as he started making careful incisions here and there. 

“Which was is Mecca?” She asked again.   
“I don’t know little one,” He murmured back. 

“Can you ask… they said at school people should face Mecca and do Shahadah when they’re going to die.”   
“You’re not going to die little one,” 

But her small voice had already started muttering it.   
“Ashhadu Alla Ilaha Illa Allah, Wa Ashhadu Anna Muhammad Rasulu Allah,” over and over again she muttered it. 

The sun beat down.   
The silence was deafening. 

He could hear the blood pounding in his head. Dry mouth. 

He went to move, but his foot slipped an inch on the wet ground. 

He felt his knife slice through a wire like butter. 

He heard the timer engage with a click. 

Fast as lightening, the plan B. 

Three cuts, 2 cutting the vest from her waist, 1 cutting the trigger from the vest. Pulled it over her head. Threw it as far as he could muster, away from the base, into the space clear of the crowd, screaming “FIRE IN THE HOLE” at the top of his voice as he pushed the girl to the ground, shielding her as best he could with her body. 

He was thrown backwards by the blast, keeping his fingers wrapped tight on the girl. The world was silent for a second. Bright lights danced before his eyes.   
He saw Robs face dancing in front of him, but couldn’t hear what he was saying.   
The world went dark.


	2. Camp Victorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn is medivacked to Camp Victory. (Marginally different chapter to the chapter I posted on Fanfiction.net as I spellchecked it again last night after I posted it!

It was some time before he woke up, and when he did, it was with start. He tried to sit up immediately. Eyes open, looking for the little girl who’d been in his arms when he’d passed out. He clocked that it was dark outside. 

A strong hand pushed him back into the bed. 

Wait. He was on a bed. 

“She’s fine, you crazy son of a bitch. You’re less fine. We’re in hospital at Camp Victory. Me, you, the girl and her Dad. We were medevacked here right after it happened with your head injury.”  
Quinn squinted. Eyes trying to focus. Rob swam into view, still a bit blurry. 

“Faras’ ok?” 

“The kids' fine you absolute arsehole. I thought you were both dead.”  
“Couldn’t let her die,” Peter responded tersely. His face was green, and he looked a bit ill. 

“You ok?” 

“Ima going to be sick.” 

Rob shoved a cardboard bucket into his hand and ran to get the nurse.  
Peter heaved. 

The doctor came in. A torch was in Peters’ face.  
“Mr Quinn, I’m Dr James. I’ve been treating you. I need to assess your head injury, is that ok?”  
He shut his eyes, screwing them tight, trying to look away.  
“Mr Quinn, I know it hurts, but you need to look at the torch. Can you tell me where you are?”  
“Baghdad, Camp Victory. The kids’ bomb went off. It was October when the bomb went off, I don’t know the date. How long was I out?”  
The doctor was periodically blocking and releasing his hand from the light, checking pupil response.  
“Four days you were out Bro. You gotta stop doing this to me.” Rob said softly.  
“Is Fara ok? Is her dad ok?”  
“She’s fine. She and her Dad are here, we didn’t think the North was safe for them anymore.”  
“You have a concussion Peter, you’ll need to stay until you stop vomiting.” The doctor said, then wrote the notes and left. 

Rob carried on. 

“She was pretty banged up by whoever took her. We think she was sexually assaulted as well, but we don’t know, she came round pretty quickly after the bomb went off and refused to let anyone touch her or to go to sleep. Sherazi is devastated.” 

Peter’s hands gripped the sheets tightly. Angrily. He went to move to get up. 

“No. No way bro. You’re staying here. She’s been sedated anyway, Sherazi is with her. You can speak to her when you are well and she wakes up. You’re here for 24 hours at least. Then we’ll see if we can get any info from her about who took her and why, pass it to Iraqi police and get on with our fucking job.” 

“She’s a little girl.” 

“No revenge missions. Mission objective is short-stop. We were close up North, I could tell. Let Iraqi police handle the girl.” 

“Not just any girl. She’s our friend’s daughter. She’s only in this because of Sherazi.” 

“It was his choice to get involved.” 

“We should have protected his family.” Peter responded angrily, eyes blazing. 

“We had no way of knowing his kid was in danger.” 

“Is that how you sleep at night?” Peter asked softly. 

Rob looked away. It was times like this that he couldn’t bear working with the young man Dar had placed him with. Rob was supposed to be his mentor, he was supposed to be guiding this man through the dark world of CIA Black Ops. Yet, young Peter here always questioned everything. Made him think of moral dilemmas that he’d never even considered before. For Rob it had always been about the mission. Black and white. Neat little boxes that he could lock away in his head. 

But Pete, he was ever the analyst, as well as the assassin. Rob wondered where Peter had been conjured from sometimes. How Dar had found the 16 year old kid who had stumbled into the groups’ Washington base behind him, only five years ago. Cold, wet, scrawny and miserable. What had Dar seen in him. 

Peter had been the sharpest kid he’d ever met, he later found out, he hadn’t been in school for 3 years. Many times, Rob marvelled at the ingenuity and strength of this young man. Often, it occurred to him how close he had been to quitting the group that week, the week he had found out he was to train a kid to become a murderer. Until that 16 year old boy had turned around and told him to quit being a pussy, and that he didn’t care if he died, or whatever, so long as it stopped other little kids being hurt. 

From then on, wherever they had been in the world, there were a few people who Peter had shown no mercy for, and those who used sexual violence as a weapon of war were amongst those people who had met a fast end in the dead of night at the hands of Peter Quinn. It was often off-script, but between Rob and Peter they were good enough at their work to cover up these non-mission critical excursions. But Rob could never bring himself to say anything. No human created justice would balance out the harm these Predators had caused to society. Somehow, to truly function, maybe society needed an angel of vengeance. If it did, it could come in no better form than Peter Quinn, he mused. 

He looked back at him. 

“Speak to her in the morning. Its 3am. Get some sleep. Then we’re back on the mission.” 

Rob got up and left, leaving Peter Quinn staring at the ceiling, his mind boring a hole through it until he fell asleep. 

The Adahn Rang out.  
Peter awoke with a start, immediately reaching for his sidearm which could not be found, panicking, and then relaxed. He was back in Baghdad, in hospital but a safe location. Just a normal day in the Desert.  
It was already oppressive, the heat.  
The hustle and bustle of the military hospital could already be heard. Nurses and orderlies came in offering him breakfast. That brought a genuine smile to his face. Genuine coffee and real, honest food which wasn’t canned tuna.  
The doctor came around at 9am then at lunchtime. He was Pleased that Peter hadn’t vomited since last night, and his aversion to light appeared to have gone, he was discharged on the proviso he stayed on base for 48 hours encase they missed something. Hydrate, plenty of fluids and two good night’s sleep. He could deal with that. He really didn’t want to be dealing with a concussion out in the field. 

He was packing up his rucksack, brushing his teeth when Rob came in. 

“Wow you’re up out of bed.” 

“Gotta be here on base for two days, but Doc said I can leave his prison. Can I go see the Sherazis girl now?” 

Rob held the door open. Pete followed him out. 

“You didn’t tell me how you twigged it was Sherazi’s daughter Quinn?” Rob asked. 

“Easy, she was speaking Farsi when she was outside the FOB and talking about a dad on base. Only one Iranian man on base. Only one with a kid daughter who was supposed to be safe at boarding school. Is she awake yet?” 

Rob laughed.  
"How the fuck could you hear that over the screaming?" 

"I dunno. I just can." 

“I forget you have hearing like a werewolf Bro.” 

He walked down the length of the huge hospital building, turning left then right countless times in the corridor, before arriving at a series of smaller rooms. Rob knocked on the door and went in. Peter followed. 

Sherazi was lost in his own world looking at his daughter, so much so he didn’t even hear the men come in. 

“As Salaam Alaikum Saqid” Peter said quietly.  
Sherazi sprung up, seeing his daughters saviour and embraced him with tears in his eyes.  
“Wa Alaikum Salaam ibn, Wa Alaikum Salaam always my son,” he said.  
Rob saw a smile ghost Peters face at being called son by this man he so clearly loved and admired.  
“She’s ok.”  
“Praise be to Allah for finding us a guardian angel against the work of Iblis, she is ok. I hope she will talk to you. She said she has to speak to the American angel, and that is all.”  
Peter was embarrassed at this.  
“I’d have saved any kid I could have done Sadiq, you know that. Anyone would do.”  
Sadiq Sherazi sat down, and gestured to Peter & Rob to sit down.  
“Actually, my son. I am not too sure that is the way of the world, although it be Allah’s way. There are not many who step fiercely into the void, at such great personal risk. You are a good man, my son. Never doubt that.” 

Peter remained standing, awkward. No matter how many times he saved little children all around the world, Rob knew that killing weighed heavily upon him.  
Sherazi reached forward and grabbed the man’s hand, looking him in the eye so intently, Peter felt as if he was being split apart. 

“In righteousness and in piety you have helped me, Peter. My daughter lives today because of your actions. It is commanded that for those who save a life, it shall be as if they have saved the whole world. You saved my whole world at least Peter. She is my world, there would be no place on this earth for me without her, without my wife. But suicide is forbidden. I am not sure what I would have done. Things will be hard for her, for me. But we have hope. For a better Iran, for a better Iraq and that she might know prosperity in the land of her father’s once more. All of this because of you. I am forever in your debt, Peter Quinn. Forever you shall be family to me, and I shall call you my child wherever in the world you are. I shall pray for you always, that you might be safe and find your way home.” 

Peter looked away, a tear rolling down his face. He had a deep respect for Sadiq Sherazi. His praise however, made him deeply uncomfortable.  
“I didn’t do it to be in your debt. I did it because she didn’t deserve to die like that.” 

Sadiq got up, and gathered the young man into his embrace. Rob looked away, feeling like he was intruding, but knowing he would be intruding more if he made the noise involved in leaving. 

“Has she… has she said anything?” Peter asked.  
“No. She won’t say anything but to her American Angel, she said.”  
“When will the sedative wear off?” 

“Soon, they said. Wherever they took her, she lost some weight. I got in touch with the school. I’m not sure how we ever knew but it was over-run three weeks ago. No other children missing, praise be to Allah.” 

The little girl stirred. 

“Your friend is here little Fara,” her dad said in Farsi, gathering her tiny hand into his giant sized paws. “Your American angel is here.” 

Small brown eyes blinked as they came into focus. 

“Hey sleepy”.  
Small brown eyes stared at the man face. She yawned.  
God, thought Peter. What world is this; that tumbles such an innocent child into a war. What world is this?

“Whats your name?” She asked quietly, in Farsi, trying to wiggle her hands out of her dads and sit up.  
“Peter,” he said, a small smile ghosting over his head. Finally, finally, he had had the chance to do some good. Something to balance against the blackness of the souls which felt like lead in his chest and his head. 

“Like the imam of Jesus?” She asked softly. 

Peter smiled back.  
“Something like that.” He said back.  
“You saved my life.” She said quietly. 

“You saved yourself. You were good, you did exactly what you were told.”  
“Allah will bless you now.” She said back quietly. 

Peter didn’t really know what to say at that. What sort of god let little children become involved in this war. What sort of god forced a little girl to become a suicide bomber? What sort of god? 

“I’ve heard you’ve been a bit scared of the doctor here?” Peter asked gently, wanting to find out more, interrogate the circumstances that had led to this. Fara froze, her eyes darting back and forth between Peter and her father, trembling. 

“They’re … American, like him.” She responded. 

Peter was confused. He looked at Rob who shrugged. Sadiq remained quiet. He’d been trying to get this out of his little girl for days. Find out why she screamed the place down in fear when the American Doctor came in. 

“But I’m American too, little one?” He responded. 

“But you don’t speak like him. You dont sound like him.You don’t dress like him. You don’t look like him.”  
“Like who Fara?” 

Tears were rolling down this little girls face, her hands shaking with fear. 

“He said he was from Pakistan, and he went to America for a long time, to learn how to jump from planes so he could make Jihad in Afghanistan and kill the Kufar. I told him he was Iblis, and that Islam is peace and forgiveness…that whoever kills muhad will not find paradise… that Islam is submission.” She was stuttering, crying now. “That’s when he hit me, that’s when he hurt me. That’s when... ”. The little girl dissolved into sobs, crawling into her fathers’ arms.  
Peter’s blood ran cold. He looked at Rob, whose face was suddenly stone. 

He knew who that was. Target number four on the list. Haqqani. The man who had slipped through their fingers four months previous in Afghanistan. 

What the hell was he doing in Iraq?


	3. Hospital Disclosures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning, discusses violence, childhood growing up in care, being a victim of the worst crimes imaginable.  
> -In this chapter, Quinn encourages Fara to get help and reminisces over his own history.

The mission in Afghanistan had been a mess from the start. They had had two primary objectives. Number 1 on the kill list for Afghanistan was Osama Bin Laden, Number 2 was Hassaim Haqqani; a Pakistani American who had deserted to fight the Jihad against the Soviet Occupation of Afghanistan and Swat valley. Since then he had been implicated in numerous attacks on civilian populations, including a set of attacks on Girls Schools in Afghanistan which had killed numerous children and terrified thousands of girls into stopping going to School. He was a diehard, fundamentalist Wahhabi and for the attacks on the girls school alone, Peter had wanted him dead. 

They’d tracked him for four months across Afghanistan towards Swat Valley, and then the mission had been a total shit-storm. They’d been made, captured by Haqqani, escaped but without their weapons (Haqqani had been too heavily guarded to risk killing him) and eventually walked their way North over a matter of months to Tajikistan to escape. Total shit-storm. 

But it made absolutely no sense for Haqqani to be in Iraq, unless Saddam had been connected to the Taliban after all, and Haqqani was looking to remove Saddam to whatever shit-hole in Pakistan Bin-Laden had been put in. Peter didn’t want to believe it was Haqqani who had captured Fara, but he knew the state of play of the intelligence in the area. He knew Haqqani was the only American-trained Parachute regiment guy who’d turned coat for the Jihadis. He knew Haqqani had a thing for hurting little girls; be it blowing them up or whatever other depraved acts he could do. He had a flair for the dramatic, and he knew how much it riled everyone to see them hurt. 

Unfortunately this meant several things. Sadiq, and therefore his daughter were no longer safe in Iraq, perhaps even in the middle-east. Obviously someone had leaked to the guerrilla fighters that Sadiq was providing key services in closing the net around Saddam. It also meant potentially that either they had not been as close as they thought they were up North, or that they were closer and the opposition forces were getting very frightened. Either way, the opposition now had a four day lead on them, and if it was what he thought; Haqqani moving Saddam, they could be anywhere in the wind by now. 

Also it unfortunately meant something else. The last person to see Hassaim Haqqani alive was a terrified 7 year old girl who’d been made to walk up to the base where her father worked and attempt to blow the damn thing up. This meant he’d have to question her, somehow determine the reliability of the evidence provided by a frightened little girl. Big problems. 

The sobs of the girl were subsiding. Tears were running down her father’s face, and Robs hand were clenched into fists.  
Peter was angry. 

Scratch that, he was fucking fuming. 

Whoever had sold them out on their fucked up mission to Afghanistan deserved to die. It was only because of that fucker that this little girl was here in this situation, and Haqqani was still alive.  
When they got out of Iraq and back to Langley, the first thing he was doing was working out what fucker had sold them out. He had been in the process of doing that when this mission had come up for Iraq; chasing Short-Stop (Saddam) and Nazir. He'd been so angry about Haqqani, he'd jumped at the chance to atone for their mission faliure. He certainly hadn't expected Haqqani to reemerge here. 

But first things first. 

Lots of big problems. 

A little girl who was the only link between them and Hassaim Haqqani. A little girl who had been held captive by the man. Hurt by the man. A little girl who was too scared to get medical help, let alone tell them what she had seen. 

Big problems always were always best broken down into sets little problems, he remembered his first (and only good) social worker telling him years ago. Same social worker that told him the best thing to do when he had lots of stuff to do was to make a start, no matter how small a start it was better than nothing. She’d been talking about school work, but it had been good life advice in general. 

Peter pulled his phone out. He scrolled through to a mugshot of Haqqani. He needed to 100% confirm his suspicions. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Tired brown eyes poked their way out of her dads embrace to look at him. 

“Thankyou for telling me why you’re so scared little one,” Peter said softly, continuing in Farsi.  
Her dad was still rubbing her shoulder.  
“Can you be brave and look at a photo for me Fara? Tell me if the Photo I show you is the man who took you?” Peter asked.  
Fara nodded. Peter showed her the photo.  
“It’s him,” she said, barley audibly, burying her face in her dads arms again. 

Peter was unsurprised that she’d found the doctors a bit scary then. The doctor who’d treated him last night was clearly of American Asian descent, and to a small child would have been a dead ringer for Haqqani. If she’d been unfortunate and had a run of two or three similar looking male doctors, and no one had thought to suggest a female doctor for this small patient, it was no wonder she didn’t want to get treated. 

“I’ve met that man before you know Fara. Truth is I found him really scary too,” Peter carried on. “He hurt me and my friend Rob here real bad. We were in hospital for a long time when we got out. I was in a lot of pain. I bet you really hurt now, don’t you?”  
The little girl nodded. 

“Well, not all of the doctors here look like him, in fact I bet I could find a lady doctor to come in here,” he carried on.  
“An American Lady Doctor?” The little girl asked softly.  
“Yes Fara, a Lady Doctor. Lots of ladies go to School and learn how to be Doctors in America.” Peter replied softly.  
“He… he hurt me real bad. He hit me, he put his cigarettes out on me. I was so scared.” Tears were running down her face. She was cuddled into her dads side, who was still rubbing her shoulder. 

“I promise you Fara, you’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you here.”  
“He… one of the days he made me touch…” She dissolved into tears again. 

“No one is going to make you do that ever again Fara,” Peter said to her firmly. “You’re safe here, I promise you. I’m just really worried about how he might have hurt you, can we get a doctor to come and look at you?” He asked softly.  
“Will she have to look at all of me?” she asked 

“Yes sweetheart, we’re worried about all of you, and the doctor will be worried. So the doctor will want to check all of you out to make sure you’re ok, the Doctor won't hurt you and you can take a break the whole time the doctor is looking at you if it gets scary. You will be in control Fara.”  
“Will you stay?” 

Peter was surprised, he didn’t think she’d want any men in the room, let alone a random American like him. 

“Please, I’m so scared. I don’t know who to trust, but I trust you. Please stay,” she babbled.  
Peter’s heart was melting. 

“Of course I will little one.” 

The girl all of a sudden was in his arms, floods of tears again. Suddenly, in his head he was transported back to the night he first became a murderer. 

The night a little girl at the children’s home he had been living at had first told him about being raped by one of the workers; a man from Hong Kong who it transpired had been involved in Sex trafficking. Peter wasn’t stupid, he knew lots of Children in care were victims of sex crimes, he had been no exception to that. It shouldn’t have caused him to react the way he did, he knew that as well. He knew he should have gone to the Police, to his shitty social worker. He knew that vigilante justice was going to get him into trouble. But he’d also known even at 16 that if you had enough money, what the little kid from the group home said didn’t really matter. He knew they were voiceless. And he was angry with the world. He had been so angry. He still was angry. He didnt think then that any court could dish out the right sort of justice, and to be honest when he thought about it now, he still didn't think a court could provide justice for that little girl. For any little girl. And that little girl, all those years ago, had told him only the week before about everything that had caused her to be taken into care. She had asked him then if she was safe now, and he had told her yes, of course she was safe because her new big brother would always protect her. So when she had eventually summoned up the courage and told him about the scary man from Hong Kong, only a week later, and asked him why he hadn't protected her like he promised, Peter had lost it. Peter had promised very solemnly that she would never have to worry about the scary man again, and walked straight downstairs, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, walked up to the man in the office and slit his throat. 

Lost in memories, it was all Peter could do, to sit there and rock Fara in his arms. Another little girl, that he had failed to save. 

Rob got up silently, and left, looking for the Doctor. Sadiq was crying silently, and there were silent tears running down Peters face too like a waterfall. He cried for her stolen childhood. He cried for his stolen childhood And for the stolen childhood of the little girl he had failed to protect all those years ago. And he cried. 


	4. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter ponders life in the aftermath of Faras disclosure

The doctor’s examination of Fara had been absolutely harrowing for all involved. Fara had ended up being sedated at the end of it, due to her extreme distress. Her father had left, with Rob when he couldn’t cope anymore. Peter had stayed with her throughout the whole thing, even though it killed him a little inside. 

She’d babbled throughout the whole thing, sometimes nervous chatter, sometimes harrowing disclosure. Peter had new found respect for Police officers the whole world over that had to deal with this every day. He was used to interrogating criminals; had trained in enhanced interrogation techniques. He wasn’t used to interrogating distraught little children.   
He’d found out enough though, enough to know that they had been close to Saddam. Fara had been a boarding student at the Nasiba Primary School for Girls in Ad-Dawr, and all their intelligence had suggested he had been moved, or was moving towards a town near Tikrit. Ad-Dawr certainly fit the bill. Fara had been awake when she had been abducted, she knew she hadn’t been driven far as she could still hear the same Muezzin recite the Adahn. She had met Haqqani several times (he had beat her, assaulted her and tortured her) but she had overheard other leaders speak about the major two Iraqi targets, Saddam Hussein himself (short-stop, their mission objective) and Abu Nazir (another major CIA target). It was clear that although Nazir and Hussein hadn’t been in the area at the time, but it was only a matter of time until they got there. They were going to have to move fast when they found out. 

Peter was sat there next to the bed, thinking. He gently pushed the girls hair out of her face. There was a sheen of fever sweat on her face. The four days it had taken to persuade her to seek medical help would likely have seriously injured her If it had carried on until five, she already had some sort of bacterial or virus infection on her wounds. 

The door opened. Peter glanced up but didn’t get up.   
“Don’t get up,” Dar Adal commented.   
Peter didn’t respond. 

“You need to get back up north.”   
“No.” Was all Peter had to say to the man. He was angry. 

“That wasn’t a request Peter,” Adal commented.   
“Fuck off Dar.” 

Adal sat down.   
“You can’t save everyone Peter. She isn’t mission critical.” 

“We should have fucking protected her,” he whispered angrily. “I told you that after that IO’s interpreter in Baghdad got hung from a bridge and burned a couple of weeks ago. They should be safe if they work with us” 

“We can’t protect them all Peter.”   
“People who work with us should have our fucking protection, that’s just common fucking decency. Not only that, she’s fucking mission critical now. Haqqani’s here Dal.” 

“What?” Dar said, “What are you on about?”   
“Haqqani’s the bastard that abducted her from school, and where Haqqani is, other high value targets will also be. She’ll lead us to him. Her school is near Tikrit. I’m staying.”   
Peters face was stone, his jaw twitching with anger. 

“The intelligence you get from a seven year old won’t be reliable or actionable,” Dar started.   
“It’s the best intelligence we have right now Dar, so please back the fuck off and leave me alone.”   
Dar paused. He didn’t know what to say at that. 

“You need a shower, Peter…”   
“Fuck off Dar.” Peter interrupted quietly, but angrily. He didn’t want to wake Fara with their argument, but Dar and his judgemental behaviour had no place here. 

Dar gave up. If there was one thing he had learned about Peter Quinn, it had to be the right time to deal with him. He needed time to process and then he would come to you.   
Peter just sat there, the artificial light of camp victory lighting up the darkening, night sky. The buzz of a city in conflict still audible outside. How the little girl had slept through Peter and Dars’ argument he didn’t know. The sedative, combined with the emotional difficulty of the day and lack of sleep beforehand must have really knocked her for six. He didn’t want to leave her alone, so he just sat there, staring out the window trying to continue to process all the information he had already got from her.   
He had identified that Haqqani was the man who had held her captive for three weeks. She didn’t think she had been moved out of Ad-Dawr at least initially, because she could still hear the same Adhan. The other men who’d hurt her sounded like they had known of Fara’s mother, a famous Peshmerga fighter who had been targeted for execution by the Bathist regime, and therefore by Saddam Hussein himself. There had obviously been some leak at the FOB in Kikrit where they had been the month or so prior. Someone had made the link. 

Peter hated traitors. 

He knew she had been held underground too, for at least part of it, because she stopped hearing the call to prayer. That had been one of the most distressing parts of her disclosure, because she had become 100% convinced that during this time god had abandoned her, that she had obviously done something terribly bad and that she was in Jahannam. It was at this point that she’d heard tell of Hussein coming, and that had convinced her that she was in hell. She knew Hussein had killed her mother, and now the fact he was coming to the same place as her. It was beyond imagining what fear she must have felt. 

He really needed some decent satellite footage of Ad-Dawr, maybe some drone footage to see if they could see any people who potentially could have been the other men who had held her captive. Then maybe they needed to get eyes on the ground, take some photos at least of the buildings to try and identify where she was being held. Then scope it out to see if his suspicions were right. Haqqani had been trying to get the American forces to back off so he could hole away Saddam Hussein there, ready to take him North and East into the Iranian border where he would still have support, across the Caspian sea and get him to Afghanistan or Pakistan. 

He really hoped against hope he would get Haqqani this time. At this point, as wrong as it sounded he cared more about getting Haqqani than he did about catching Saddam. Haqqani had haunted them for years. Saddam for mere months. If he got Haqqani, he knew eventually that would lead to Bin-Laden too; and that was the scalp he really wanted.   
Fara was clearly beginning to dream some terrible dream. Her breathing had picked up, her eyes were screwed tightly shut and she was tossing and turning on the bed, her hands in fists. He got up and sat down again on the side of the bed so he could reach to brush her fevered hair out of her face.   
“Ssssh now little one,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.” 

He carried on brushing his hand through the little girls hair, somehow on instinct although he had had no children of his own. It took a few minutes, but after a while the dream obviously passed. She buried herself into his side, and Peter put his arm around her and stared out the window at the night sky of Bhagdad. 

\----- The Adhan Rang out. It was like a freight train this city, always ploughing on. 

The little girl stirred. Pushing herself up from Peters side and staring at him with her tired brown eyes.   
“Morning sleepy,” Peter said softly to her in Farsi.  
“You stayed?” She commented, confused.   
“Oh course I did, I promised I’d keep you safe didn’t I?”   
“Where’s Papa?”   
“He’s with my friend Rob, I’m sure he will be back here soon.” 

They sat in silence for a little while, two troubled souls. Fourteen years between them yet experience had made them brother and sister. 

“Did you dream about the monster man too?” She asked after a while.   
“Yes, I dreamed about him too. For a long time.”   
“Are you scared of him?” she asked again. 

Peter didn’t really know how to respond to that. Eventually he settled on it.   
“Yes, but I work hard with my friends like Rob to not be scared of him.”   
“Will you kill him if you find him?” Fara asked again. 

Again Peter didn’t know what the right answer would be here. Whether Fara would want him dead, or whether she’d want the chance to ask why.   
“That depends on him, I think Fara…” Peter started. “Maybe if he comes without hurting any of my friends, we will take him and then he will have whats called a trial….”   
“I know what a trial is. He’ll hurt your friends. He’ll die. I’m not sorry. Does that make me a bad person?”   
“What? No of course it doesn’t Fara, he’s a bad man whose hurt a lot of people,” he said quickly but with seriousness. 

“He’s friends with lots of bad men too you know.” Fara commented after a while. “He’s friends with the man who killed my mother. The butcher president man”   
Peter knew he needed to ask her how she knew that, but he hated questioning her without her father there. He paused.   
“How’d you figure that out?” He asked her, careful to remain side on so this frightened little girl didn’t need to cope with eye contact as well.   
“He spoke to him sometimes. On his phone. He was headed North, but I didn’t hear where.”   
“That’s really helpful information Fara, thankyou.” 

There was silence for a bit longer, all he could hear from inside the room was Faras soft breathing in and out.   
“Will you kill him too?”   
“I don’t know little one.”   
“I won’t be sorry if he dies either.” She said after a while.


	5. OPPO in crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, been away!

A few hours later, Fara’s dad returned to the hospital bed. Eventually, a very tired Peter left the hospital at camp victory, following Rob to the ops room in the CIA building there. He was silent. 

“You ok?” Rob asked eventually.   
Peter sighed as they walk.   
“Yeah…” he started.   
Rob stopped, and spun around.   
“You’re not alright though, are you?” 

Peter looked at him. Well not at him, through him. 

“Goddamit Peter, I’m worried about you. You didn’t sleep before all this happened. Not for days. You’re falling off the edge of the earth here bro. You try to disarm a fucking IED with a goddam knife, you tell Dar fucking Adal to go do one, and you won’t even talk to me? Tell me what the hell is going on! You’re my fucking OPPO! Because if we are headed back to war, I need to know your head is in the game.” Rob spat at him. 

“I’m fine Rob.” Peter said quietly. “I want Haqqani dead, that’s all.” Peter pushed past Rob and carried on walking.   
“He’s not the mission objective, you know that.”   
Peter stopped. He ran a hand through his hair, then leaned back against the wall. 

“How can you just let him go though Rob? After what he did to you, to us? Now to her?”   
Rob paused. He looked at the young man, who looked tired, ill and stressed out his brain. 

“We’ll get him eventually Peter, you know that. We may yet on our hunt for Hussein, but if not, you just got to have faith in the system and the rest of the deltas. We’ll get another go eventually. Let’s go to Ops, you can tell us all what you got from the girl and we can take it from there.”   
“I… I don’t think they will think it actionable.” 

“Worry about that later Peter.”   
Peter looked away. He took a deep breath and then looked to his OPPO and carried on.   
Eventually they walked through the door into Ops 1, CIA, Baghdad.   
A meeting was already ongoing. 

Peter sat down with Rob on the vacant chairs and listened to ongoing chatter.   
Soon the topic switched to their number 1 target in Iraq, Saddam Hussein, or “short-stop”.   
“We have reason to believe he is, or will be, in the North West of the country,” one intelligence officer began, “hoping to then follow the western border into Saudi Arabia where he will get protection.” 

“Where has this information come from?” another voice piped up. “It contradicts information from my informant,” another CIA officer interrupted.   
“I don’t give a shit about your informant.”   
He spotted Saul Berenson, a senior official who he had been told he could trust, leaning back in his chair watching it all happening. The argument went on, and on. One informant this, the other that.   
“So one informant says one thing, another another. Whats fucking new?” Another voice interrupted. It was Major General Odierno, the man sat at the head of the table. That was good, thought Quinn, he was one of the good guys.   
Peter was tired. His head was still pounding, he was still bloody dehydrated.   
He leaned forward to pour himself some water. The talking was still going on. 

“What about Task force 121. You've been collecting intelligence, haven't you? What have you got to say for yourselves?” He heard a voice cut across.   
“Quinn.” Rob elbowed him. 

Quinn suddenly saw the size of the table. He swallowed. He hated speaking at group briefings. He hated speaking at all really.   
“We… we have been tracking the Primary target North to Kirkuk.” 

“Speak up man,” Col Hickey projected down the table. Quinn then overheard him muttering to a collegue “Whose the fucking kid.”   
Suddenly Quinn was angry. 

“I heard that Sir.” He spoke quietly, but angrily down the table. “All you need to know is we have actionable intelligence that Hassaim Haqqani was in Ad- Dawr near Tikrit as of four days ago, arranging the sequestering of the Primary Target, Saddam Hussein there in preparation to move him East, eventually to Afghanistan or Pakistan is our suggestion.”

“And precisely where the hell has this intelligence magicked itself from? Last I knew you and the rest of Adals merry clan of elves were on a wild-fucking goose-chase for Haqqani in Afghanistan, and now you’re telling me he’s here?” Another voice piped up. 

“Yes Sir.”   
“Mind telling me how? And do you mind telling me where the hell this intelligence has come from?” Col. Hickey responded.   
“An Asset who I trust.”

“Tell me how you built a relationship with this Asset in the short time you were up North?” Another voice asked.   
“I cut a fucking IED off her, that’s how.” 

The room exploded again. Angry shouts on basing decisions with national security implications on a terrorist took the room.   
Peters head hurt. He was tired. He wasn’t thinking straight. 

“I think you ought to know, I’m not basing these decisions on the word of a terrorist, I’m basing them off the word of a kid....” Peter said acerbically, quietly but somehow in a way that cut across the room. The room exploded again. Oops. Wrong thing to say. I hate meetings, thought Quinn. 

He caught Robs eyes, they were glaring death at him. 

Rob stood up, grabbing his OPPO by his jacket and manhandling him out the room.   
Rob slammed the door behind him. 

“What do you think you’re playing at?” Rob screamed at him.   
“They need to know the truth. They’d find out eventually,” Peter tried to respond.   
“Bullshit do they need to know the truth.” 

“Well you should have spoken then!” Peter said sharply. “You know I’m bad at this.” Peter rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. 

Rob looked at the tired, pale man. 

“Go and get your fucking head down man. Leave me to sort this mess out.”   
Peter just stood there. 

“What the fuck did I just say? Get out of here. You’ve been up best part of two days. Don’t let me find you back in that girls’ ward either. I find you there, you are out of the Operation; do you understand me?”   
Peter didn’t respond. 

“That is a direct order Quinn, you need to sleep.”   
Peter had the gall to look sheepish.   
“Yes Sir.”   
He stalked off, silently. 

He turned round. Rarely was he shocked by anyone creeping up on him, but the kid had the habit of taking his whole focus. Saul Berenson was stood there, he had obviously watched the whole thing.   
“Is he ok?” Saul asked. 

“The group takes care of its own.” Was all Rob could say. 

There were still shouts going on inside the room.   
Rob looked at the door, and then back to Saul Berenson. He sighed. 

“Do we have to go back in?” He asked the man. 

“No. I cleared it with Adal before the meeting. You and Quinn go dark tomorrow; two week surveillance on Al-Dawr. Back here November 11th , with a one week window after. Surveillance only; you don’t move on any target unless you’re sure you can get in and out without ending up with your head in basket. We’ve got the rest of the Delta’s that are here conducting surveillance on the other sites, but Adal is sure your boy has good intel? Why?” 

“He’s rarely wrong, that’s why.”   
“Think he’s up to it? He looks to me like he’s a loose cannon out here.” 

“The kids good. He’s immature around other officers, especially Authority figures. But I’d go to bat for him. At the end of the day, he’s the only reason we’re both alive,” Rob tried to argue for his OPPO. 

“He’s young, he’s inexperienced and he shouldn’t be out here so soon after a serious hostage situation, and neither should you.”   
Rob laughed dejectedly at that. 

“Tell Adal that, next time you speak to him will you?” Rob said quietly. “I haven’t seen my wife in nearly a year.”   
“What about the boy?” 

“Group’s his family.”   
Saul gritted his teeth. 

“I hate the fact he recruits foster kids.”   
“Well I wasn’t too happy about it either,” Rob replied. “But the kid is good, he practically recruited himself.”   
Saul leaned back against the wall. 

“How much do you believe this intel of his?” he asked.   
Rob stopped.   
“I think the girl believes she is telling the truth, but at the end of the day, she’s a little kid. She definitely saw Haqqani there, of that I had no doubt. Whether Saddam Hussein is there, or coming, or moving elsewhere, of that, I have no idea. Guess we’ll find out soon.”   
“Tomorrow, 0700 hours. I’ll have a local car for you, your ID and so on. Don’t shave your beard and make sure the kid doesn’t either.”   
Saul turned to open the door. 

“Mr Berenson,” Rob said sharply just before Saul walked into the still raging Ops room. Saul took his hand off the door. “Make sure the girl and her dad are safe here. Guarded, whatever it takes. Quinn’s fuming. He told Adal to do one yesterday,” 

“I heard... Takes a brave soul to say that.” Saul responded. 

“Or a stupid one… But if we get back, and the girls’ not here, we’re going to have problems containing Quinn.” Rob said.   
“Problems how?” 

“He’ll go cold. He’s got a way of making people trust him, and even without the assets here he will build them quick enough to get away with it. He speaks Arabic, Farsi and Pashto well enough to come across as a local, and enough Kurdish and Turkish to get by. We lose him here, we’re fucked, they’ll just be a list of bodies to clear up.”   
“And Adal still wants him here if he’s that volatile?” 

“The kid managed to convince him it would calm him down to be back out here.”   
Saul looked at Rob quizzicly.   
"Who manages to convince Adal of anything?"


End file.
